


body rock, sit back and watch

by playedwright



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, M/M, Office Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, kind of????
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:53:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24340879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/playedwright/pseuds/playedwright
Summary: Richie scrunches his nose. “What do you look like that for?”Eddie looks down at himself, confused by Richie’s question. He doesn’t think there’s anything out of the ordinary. Button-up shirt, tie, suit jacket, hair neatly combed back. Clean shoes. Tidy clothes. He looks the same as he does every day he goes into work. Eddie huffs, “This is just the way I fucking look, asshole.”“No, you look,” Richie tries to explain. He waves a flimsy hand in the air. “You look. Obnoxiously neat.”“I have ameeting,” Eddie says in exasperation.“I can’t let you go to your meeting looking like that,” Richie says resolutely, with a shake of his head. He stands and makes his way across the room. He closes Eddie’s office door soundly. The lock makes an audible sound as it clicks.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 11
Kudos: 316





	body rock, sit back and watch

**Author's Note:**

> you ever see a gif that awakens something in you that you did not realize was there. yeah. anyway.
> 
> is it weird to dedicate smut to friends because i’m gonna, this is for [cj](https://twitter.com/babylovestan) and [hannah](https://twitter.com/loveyrichie), thanks for sending me that gif that made me astral project out of my own fucking body.
> 
> also thank u [jaise](https://twitter.com/crybabytozier) for like, holding my hand through my second attempt at pwp

“You know, I’m starting to think you forget your lunch on purpose so that you have an excuse to make me come all the way out here to drop it off,” Richie says as he waltzes into Eddie’s office. There’s an old Thundercats lunch box in his hands, a relic from their childhoods he’d found somewhere and regifted to Eddie, that Eddie has used for lunch ever since. “I knew you couldn’t get enough of me. Must drive you wild that you don’t get to hear me talk before you go to work each morning.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “You think that everyone in the world wants to hear you talk, don’t you?”

“No, I think _you_ like hearing me talk, and I think you’re grumpy that you leave for work when I’m still in bed,” Richie says gleefully. He puts the lunch box down on Eddie’s desk and presses an easy kiss to Eddie’s waiting mouth. “Am I wrong?”

“I don’t like hearing you talk, Trashmouth,” Eddie lies.

Richie smirks. “Oh, baby, there’s a lot of things that this mouth does that you like, don’t even try to lie to me right now.”

Eddie pretends to consider it, though they both know there’s no denying that Eddie is head over fucking heels, obsessed with _everything_ that Richie does. It wasn’t worth pretending back then that Eddie wasn’t, and it’s not worth it now. Eddie’s smiling by the time he says, “I guess you do have a pretty skilled mouth.”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were angling for some action,” Richie laughs.

“I’m not angling for anything, I have a meeting in thirty minutes,” Eddie retorts. He leans back in his chair. It’s a dangerous game they’re playing, but Eddie can’t see any harm in admiring Richie’s broad expanse as he leans against Eddie’s desk. Richie stretches out, like he knows Eddie is drinking him in. Cocky asshole.

“We’ve done plenty of things in less than thirty minutes,” Richie reminds him. He crosses his arms across his chest in the way he knows Eddie likes. Eddie tries to make himself look away. “We’ve done plenty of things _here,_ too. In less than thirty minutes. I’m just saying.”

Eddie clears his throat in hopes that his voice won’t sound gruff as he says, “Now who's the one angling for some action?”

“Still you,” Richie says easily. His eyes trail down Eddie’s body. He scrunches his nose. “What do you look like that for?”

Eddie looks down at himself, confused by Richie’s question. He doesn’t think there’s anything out of the ordinary. Button-up shirt, tie, suit jacket, hair neatly combed back. Clean shoes. Tidy clothes. He looks the same as he does every day he goes into work. Eddie huffs, “This is just the way I fucking look, asshole.”

“No, you look,” Richie tries to explain. He waves a flimsy hand in the air. “You look. Obnoxiously neat.”

“I have a _meeting,_ ” Eddie says in exasperation.

“I can’t let you go to your meeting looking like that,” Richie says resolutely, with a shake of his head. He stands and makes his way across the room. He closes Eddie’s office door soundly. The lock makes an audible sound as it clicks.

“What the fuck.”

Richie shrugs off his jacket, unresponsive to Eddie’s inquiry. Despite his complaints of Eddie’s neatness, he places it gently over the arm of the sofa in Eddie’s office. He realizes Eddie is staring at him, dumbfounded, after a moment. All Richie does is raise an eyebrow back. “What?”

Eddie bristles. “What do you mean, _what?_ What are you doing?”

“I can’t let you go to your meeting _looking_ like that,” Richie says again. There’s a purposeful look in his eyes that makes Eddie’s gut swoop and his throat go dry.

“I look fine, I look nice. Neat,” Eddie says weakly.

Richie grins. “That’s the point.”

Eddie can feel his cheeks flush. He’s a bit lightheaded. “Richie, I don’t,” he tries to say. “If this is what I think it is, I can’t, we can’t—”

“Why not?” Richie asks. He takes a deliberate step forward. The front of Eddie’s pants is starting to feel uncomfortably tight. “Wouldn’t be the first time we’ve done things here. Probably won’t be the last.”

Involuntarily, Eddie rocks forward just a bit in his chair, seeking out the relief of barely-there friction, the tight fabric against his half-hard dick. He whimpers before he can catch it. Across the room, Richie’s eyes go wide.

“Oh, you like that,” Richie says gleefully. “You’re getting off on this. We haven’t even started yet, baby. I haven’t even had a chance to tell you all the things I want to do to you to mess you up before your meeting.”

“Richie,” Eddie snaps. He means for it to come out as exasperated, maybe even to try and put a stop to this and preserve what little dignity Eddie has left in the workplace before going into this meeting, but Richie’s name falls from Eddie’s mouth with a stutter and a groan. It just spurs Richie on.

He closes the space between them in a few, long strides. Eddie’s frozen in his chair as Richie comes behind his desk and puts a hand on the arm of it, spinning Eddie towards him. There’s no mistaking the bulge in Eddie’s pants, and Richie’s gaze drops to it almost right away. Richie licks his lips.

“Jesus Christ, Richie,” Eddie breathes.

“That’s my line,” Richie tells him. He traces one hand up the neat, pressed line of Eddie’s suit jacket. Richie doesn’t stop until his thumb is rubbing against the collar of Eddie’s button-up shirt. “You drive me fucking nuts, you know that? With your dry-cleaned suits and ironed shirts. Stupid hair brushed back. You shouldn’t brush it back. It looks better when it’s not brushed back.”

Eddie gulps. “You’re biased.”

Richie raises an eyebrow. He’s always been big, taller than Eddie by infuriating inches, but with Eddie sat squarely in his chair with nowhere to go, he feels engulfed by it. He feels _intoxicated_ by it. “Biased opinions are always better, baby.”

When Eddie shudders, Richie flattens his palm against the breast of his suit jacket, pinning him to the chair. Eddie is too transfixed to even think about looking away.

“Still think we can’t do this?” Richie asks. Even through two layers of clothes, when Richie’s finger brushes against Eddie’s nipple, Eddie’s full body twitches.

“Shut the fuck up,” Eddie gasps out. He squeezes his eyes shut and grips the arms of his chair with a white-knuckled hold. “Shit. _Fuck._ What are you gonna do to me?”

Richie hums. “I have a plan or two.”

“That should not be as sexy as it is,” Eddie groans.

“What, the fact that I have a plan?” Richie asks. Eddie opens his eyes just so he can see the smile on Richie’s face. “Baby, haven’t you learned yet that I always have a plan when it comes to you? Step one: get you out of as much clothing as I can. Step two: fuck your goddamn brains out.”

Eddie lets go of his office chair and reaches up to grab onto Richie’s arms. His face is flushed, his whole body is on fire, and somehow miraculously there’s still blood left that can rush to his dick, almost painfully hard at this point and straining against his nicest pair of work pants. “Please fucking touch me,” Eddie grits out. Richie’s hands are still pinning him to his chair, so he can’t even uselessly rut up anymore. His head is spinning. “Richie, fucking. _Please._ ”

“If you insist,” Richie says with a shrug, before he drops to his knees.

Eddie’s vision blurs at the edges for a moment, at the sight of Richie down on his knees behind the desk. Richie’s large hands come to rest on Eddie’s thighs, massaging little circles for just a moment before he uses his hands to spread Eddie’s legs. Eddie whimpers, “Jesus Christ—”

“Do you want to know my plans?” Richie asks. His hand runs along the inseam of Eddie’s pants, teasingly inching higher and higher but never reaching where Eddie most desperately wishes he would touch. Eddie is helpless except to nod in response. “I’m gonna mess up that neat little hair of yours. Make it so everyone can see how good you look when those waves aren’t pushed back. Gonna strip you out of that insufferable suit jacket. It’s an injustice, the way that jacket hides your tight fucking body, Eds.”

“Richie, god almighty,” Eddie grunts out. “Where the fuck did you learn to talk like this?”

Richie grins wickedly. He trails a hand up the front of Eddie’s shirt, fingers idly tracing each button as he goes. “You like it?”

Impatient and annoyed that Richie’s fishing, Eddie reaches up to grab Richie’s wrist so he can press Richie’s hand against the hard line of his dick straining against his pants. Richie’s eyes go dark and he swallows thickly.

“You like it,” Richie summarizes. He wriggles his hand until Eddie’s fingers release, then, because he’s a dick, he takes his hand away. Eddie groans uselessly. “Hey, hey. I’m calling the shots here, remember? This is about me taking _you_ apart. Let me lead.”

There was an instruction earlier, that Richie never fulfilled, or maybe he’d meant to leave it up to Eddie, but either way Eddie decides he’s wearing too many layers still, so he leans forward in his chair and shrugs off his suit jacket. Where Richie had taken off his own jacket and neatly laid it down, Eddie throws his carelessly across the room. It’s a roll-reversal that makes him feel hot under the collar but makes Richie throw his head back and laugh. “Someone’s gagging for it, huh?” Richie teases.

“Are you gonna put my dick in your mouth or not?” Eddie demands.

“You’re so bossy,” Richie says. Eddie can tell he means to tease again, but it comes out breathless. “Guess that’s what makes this so hot to you, right? You like being the boss. Like being in charge. This is your office, your domain. You’re in charge.”

At the last word, Richie reaches forward and undoes Eddie’s belt and the button of Eddie’s work pants, and pulls down the zipper with one deft movement. Clever _fucking_ fingers.

“Think it’s pretty clear who is in charge here,” Eddie gasps out. Richie runs his fingers along the elastic of Eddie’s underwear, light and teasing. Eddie squeezes his eyes shut and groans. “Fuck, I hate how good you are at this.”

Finally, _finally,_ Richie’s hand dips below the elastic line. “Oh, really? You hate it?” Richie asks, but he doesn’t give Eddie a chance to answer before his hand is wrapping around Eddie’s dick and tugging once, twice, three times experimentally. Eddie’s cry echoes around his office walls. “Yeah, seems like you absolutely can’t stand this.”

“Shut up,” Eddie gasps.

With his free hand, Richie undoes as many buttons on Eddie’s shirt as he can from the bottom up, stopping before he reaches the top where Eddie’s tie is still tied. Richie loosens the tie just enough and pushes Eddie’s shirt to the side as much as it will go. It’s going to be wrinkled to hell by the time they’re done, and Eddie is about to gripe about it when Richie rubs a finger against the head of Eddie’s dick and any words Eddie had meant to say are instantly replaced with a litany of swear words tumbling from his mouth. 

“Fucking beautiful,” Richie breathes. He runs his palm flat against Eddie’s chest while his other hand pumps Eddie lazily. It’s hot and it’s _maddening_ and it isn’t _enough_. “Even when you look so neat and tidy. The second I fucking saw you, the only thing I could think was ‘I’ve got to tear this guy apart’. I’m gonna make a mess out of you.”

Eddie whimpers, and Richie’s hand speeds up. He twines his own finger in Richie’s curls, desperate for something to hang on to. Richie grabs on to Eddie’s tie and pulls him forward and down so that Eddie will kiss him. It’s messy. Desperate. Eddie can’t do much more than gasp as Richie’s hand works around his dick. But Richie kisses like he’s got something to prove, and maybe he does. It’s almost all tongue, in a way that Eddie can’t get enough of. He’s greedy for it, desperate for the way the swell of Richie’s tongue takes him apart bit by bit. Eddie is achingly hard, leaking against Richie’s hand. He’s barely aware of the way Richie lets go of his tie so he can run his fingers through Eddie’s hair, controlling the angle of the kiss and effectively messing up Eddie’s hair the way he promised he would.

“Gonna send you into that meeting with your shirt wrinkled and your hair messed up,” Richie murmurs against his mouth. “I’m gonna suck your soul outta your dick and swallow your come and then send you into that meeting, and you’re gonna be stumbling over your words for the next hour. I want to make you forget your own fucking name.”

“Richie,” Eddie groans. He ruts his hips forward, chasing the delicious friction of Richie’s palm against him.

“That’s right,” Richie reassures him. With the hand that’s been running up Eddie’s chest and messing up his hair and doing practically everything besides taking Eddie apart by his dick, Richie rubs a reassuring circle into Eddie’s hipbone. “You’ll remember _my_ name, won’t you?”

“If you don’t blow me right now, I’m gonna—” Eddie pants. “Fuck, _fuck,_ please put your fucking mouth on me.”

Richie’s laugh is one of Eddie’s favorite sounds no matter what, something he’s loathe to admit. Richie’s laugh during sex, though, is something Eddie can never get enough of. He’s still laughing even as he leans forward and finally, _finally_ swallows Eddie down.

“Jesus Christ!” Eddie cries out. He throws his head back against his office chair. His hands tighten in Richie’s hair. Richie takes all of Eddie at once, running his tongue along the shaft as he goes down. Each flex of the muscle against Eddie’s dick makes Eddie huff out small breath after breath. Richie’s almost illegally talented at this, something Eddie has known since the first time they had sex, but what really gets him is the fact that he’s still not used to it. Richie’s nose brushes against Eddie’s stomach after he takes Eddie entirely into his mouth, and Eddie gasps when Richie inhales and hollows out his cheeks. “Fuck, fuck, _Richie—_ ”

Richie pulls off almost entirely before taking Eddie in his mouth again. His hands press firmly on Eddie’s hips, keeping him in place and stopping him from bucking into the warmth of Richie’s mouth. Eddie feels overstimulated despite the fact he hasn’t even come yet, his entire body on fire and chasing the high. Richie’s tongue runs along the underside of Eddie’s dick as he pulls off again. He licks the head, running his tongue along it in maddening circles.

Richie’s hands flex against Eddie’s hips. He grabs two fistfuls of Eddie’s button-up shirt and holds onto them even as he wraps his fingers back around Eddie’s hips and pulls him forward, encouraging Eddie to fuck into his mouth.

It’s a difficult angle, still practically pinned in his office chair, but Eddie is nothing if not dedicated to doing his best. He finds a rhythm with Richie’s hands on his hips and with the bobbing of Richie’s head, and he rocks forward as Richie rocks down.

Heat coils in the base of Eddie’s gut, so visceral he’s certain he can feel it in his fingertips. His whole body is flushed, on fire, as Eddie desperately tries to memorize the way this feels. Tries to implant the image of Richie down on his knees between Eddie’s legs, the broad expanse of his shoulders hidden behind Eddie’s heavy oak desk. Eddie cries out again when Richie lets go of Eddie’s hips so that he can reach down and press his palm against his own crotch, no doubt painfully hard and straining against his jeans.

“You’re so hot,” Eddie gasps out, because he knows how Richie’s body responds to praise like this. “You’re so hot, just like, in general, you drive me fucking nuts, you’re so _big,_ and even like this, you—you— _fuck,_ Richie, I’m—!”

Richie pulls off with an audible sound so filthy, Eddie feels lightheaded. His body is trembling, teetering near the edge, so close that he stutters out a cry at the loss of Richie’s warm mouth around him. His vision is blurred as he tries to look at Richie’s face. Richie looks at him smugly even though his own cheeks are pink and his own pupils are dilated so much it’s undeniable how turned on he is by this, too.

“What was that you said earlier, about how we didn’t have time for this?” Richie asks. He runs both of his hands up the sides of Eddie’s thighs soothingly. “How are we on time right now?”

“Richie—”

“How are we on time?” Richie asks again.

Eddie’s throat is dry. He glances at his computer, screen now dark from not being used. He has to wiggle the mouse for it to turn back on. It feels comically out of place and, startlingly, sends another electric thrill of heat towards his dick. “I have ten minutes,” he grits out.

Richie hums. He rubs his thumb along Eddie’s slit and grins when Eddie bucks uselessly against his hand. “Well, now what?” he asks. His voice is contemplative in a way that’s driving Eddie insane. “I could make you wait ten minutes until I let you come.”

Eddie lets out a filthy, desperate moan. He might actually die if he has to wait that long.

Richie grins from ear to ear. “No, you won’t last ten more minutes,” he says decisively. “Guess that only leaves us one other option.”

“Fucking,” Eddie pants, “ _what_?”

“No, not fucking,” Richie hums. “I don’t think we have enough time.”

“Richie—!”

It’s a dangerous game they started, before any of this began, and Richie’s always been a competitive shit. He raises an eyebrow, clearly thrilled by the desperation in Eddie’s voice, and he only hesitates for another second before he replaces his hand on Eddie’s dick with his mouth.

His efforts are doubled down now, twice as efficient and even more effective. Eddie cries out again when he feels the gentle scrape of Richie’s teeth. Richie’s tongue has always been clever, but it has learned the tricks that drive Eddie wild. Richie runs his tongue along the shaft, along the underside, against the head. He laps up every drop of precum that Eddie spills. With Eddie’s hands still in his curls, he finally, _finally_ lets Eddie set the pace.

Eddie is close, closer than he thinks should be fair considering this is just a blow job, but he fucks forward into Richie’s mouth in earnest. Richie knows how to take a dick, that much is obvious, no matter how he takes it. And as much as Richie has taken control today, he thrives in letting Eddie take the lead, and that is evident in the way his eyes roll back and he groans against Eddie’s dick as Eddie picks up the pace and fucks his hips faster.

“You’re so hot,” Eddie gasps out. Richie’s fingers flex against Eddie’s hips again. “Jesus, you. You make me into a fucking mess, I’m a mess, I’m _your_ mess, I’m gonna—”

Richie moans again, so loud and deep that it reverberates along Eddie’s dick and shudders through both of their bodies. One of Eddie’s hands flies to Richie’s shoulder, desperate for something to grab to ground him. The corners of his vision are whited out entirely. The heat in his gut pools to almost unbearable levels, until, with another bob of his head and one last deliberate brush of teeth and tongue along the length of Eddie’s dick, Eddie comes with a shout down Richie’s throat.

Eddie collapses hard against the back of his chair while Richie licks him clean. Every brush of his tongue against the sensitive skin draws out small noises from Eddie’s throat. His head is swimming, his body is soaring, chasing a post-orgasm high he’d never experienced before until he started sleeping with Richie.

Richie sits back, when he’s satisfied with his work, and—because he’s an asshole and a sex god that was place on this earth _specifically_ to torture Eddie—he wipes at his mouth. He’s grinning by the time the room stops spinning for long enough that Eddie can focus on his face. “How are we on time?’

It takes a second for Eddie to gather his bearings, but he turns to glance at the clock on his computer. He blinks heavily and takes a deep breath to try and clear his head. Once he feels like he’s no longer floating, he says, “Five minutes,” before leaning out of his chair and practically tackling Richie to the ground.

“Fuck—” Richie grunts out, but whatever else he was going to say is cut off by a breathy moan as Eddie wriggles his ass against Richie’s erection. “Eddie, we don’t have time—”

“I can be late” Eddie says decisively. He’s partially amazed he can string together any cohesive sentence at all, considering he’s almost certain Richie _did_ just suck his soul out through his dick. Still, it’s worth it for the way that Richie lets out a startled, desperate gasp. His hips buck up.

Eddie slides back until he’s straddling either side of Richie’s thighs. He pops open the fly of Richie’s jeans then pulls both jeans and boxers down just a bit. “Jesus, Jesus _Christ,_ Eddie,” Richie groans.

Eddie takes Richie’s dick in his hand and wraps his hand around the base of it. “You took such good care of me,” Eddie says. Richie scrambles to press up on his forearms so he can sit up and watch as Eddie jerks him off slowly, deliberately. “It’s my turn.”

It’s never taken much to get Richie to come, especially if it’s after Richie has gotten Eddie off. Richie’s writhing underneath him, fucking his hips up as best as he can at this angle, while Eddie fluctuates between tightly fisting Richie’s dick or loosening his grip as Richie moves in and out. They probably should be more quiet than they’re being, especially as Richie’s breathless pants turn into moans then turn into yelps, but Eddie’s never been one for quiet sex and he’s certainly not going to start now. Not now, when he’s got Richie pinned against the floor of his office. Not now, with Richie’s shirt halfway rucked up his chest and his jeans and boxers barely pulled down enough. Not now, with Eddie’s own shirt and pants still unbuttoned, dick still out and trying to stir in interest at the sight of this even though Eddie’s not even two minutes post orgasm.

Eddie works quickly, aware of their time limit but also knowing that Richie loves a quick fuck, a hasty hand job that’s a little bit rough and a lot dirty. Richie’s hand flails uselessly, smacking the floor and seeking something to hold onto, so with his free hand Eddie grabs ahold of Richie’s wrist and lifts his hand until Richie twines his fingers into Eddie’s hair, messing it up more than it had already been fucked with.

He can tell Richie is getting close, so he leans forward and brackets Richie’s body with his own so he can lick his way into Richie’s mouth, opening him up and chasing the taste of his own come on Richie’s tongue. Richie’s fingers flex uselessly against Eddie’s scalp before tightening and tugging on Eddie’s hair. Eddie moans into the kiss.

“I’m gonna—” Richie gasps out. Eddie breaks the kiss and sits up again. He pushes Richie’s shirt up higher, just to be safe. With another deliberate pull and brush of his thumb against Richie’s leaking head, Eddie lets Richie fuck into his hand until he does finally come, hips stuttering and mouth cursing brokenly, against his own chest. Eddie runs his hand soothingly up and down Richie’s shaft, drawing out the last dredges of Richie’s orgasm and enjoying the desperate way that Richie cries out the more that Eddie keeps touching him, until Richie is finally overstimulated enough that he bats Eddie’s hands away and covers his own face with his palms.

“Holy shit,” he gasps out brokenly. Eddie doubts that Richie is even aware he’s saying it. Eddie reaches up and grabs the box of tissues off his desk as Richie continues to swear, slowly coming down from his own post-orgasm high.

Eddie cleans up Richie delicately, wiping up the come on his chest with the tissues and then leaning forward to press reassuring kisses to various spots on Richie’s torso. Eddie throws the tissues away, then ducks Richie’s softening dick back into his boxers and jeans before doing up the fly and tugging Richie’s shirt back down into place.

Richie sits up, finally, and looks at him with wide eyes as Eddie’s tidying himself up. His mouth opens and closes a few times, debating on what to say, before another smug smile dances across his expression, and he says, for the third time in the last thirty minutes, “How are we on time?”

“I’m officially late to my meeting,” Eddie says as he finishes doing up the buttons of his shirt again and tucks it, wrinkled as fucking hell, into his pants.

Richie’s grin is maddeningly attractive. “Good,” he says proudly. “Extra good, too, because you look properly wrecked. Now I feel good about sending you in.”

“Oh, you’re _sending_ me into my meeting, huh?” Eddie says. Richie reaches forward and tightens Eddie’s tie for him. “I didn’t realize that you were the one who sent me to meetings at my firm where I work, where you do not work.”

“Yeah, it’s a really hard job,” Richie tells him. He smooths Eddie’s tie down once he’s done. It’s almost painfully endearing, especially considering the time in which he took to make sure that Eddie did not look smooth and collected for his meeting. Eddie can’t help but rock forward and kiss Richie again, albeit a lot more gently this time.

“I love you,” he says. “Thanks for bringing me lunch.”

“You’re welcome, I love you,” Richie says. “And hopefully the sandwich tastes good, too.”

Eddie smacks his shoulder. “Get _out_ of my office.”

Still, when Eddie stands, he helps Richie to his feet too and his arms linger around Richie. He wonders if it’ll ever get easier to let Richie walk away from him. He hopes not, if he’s being entirely honest.

“Can’t I walk you to your meeting?” Richie asks gleefully. Eddie shoves him towards the door. Richie’s cackling as he picks up his jacket on his way out. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Kaspbrak, I’m very appreciative of how _thorough_ you were, I’m completely satisfied with your service—”

“Get out of my office!” Eddie yells, but he’s laughing himself. He can still hear Richie’s laugh echoing in his ears even after Richie leaves.

He’s over five minutes late to his meeting, though he knows if he were asked, he’d say it was worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me on [tumblr](https://rchtoziers.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/SPACERICHlE) if you want to come say hello!


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